


Anteros

by narkao (sophluorescent)



Series: Mars Verse [2]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Space, Clones, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Selfcest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:14:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23625193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophluorescent/pseuds/narkao
Summary: “You left me.”A tone void of any emotion, a wall put up to protect the heart on the other side. But the lips that speak it are pink like affection. Baëkhyun is a fragment of a past that Baekhyun wants to forget. A past that he must confront if he is to move forward and chase dreams that never died.
Relationships: Byun Baekhyun/Byun Baekhyun, Byun Baekhyun/Byun Baekhyun/Kim Jongdae | Chen, References Byun Baekhyun/Byun Baekhyun/ Kim Minseok | Xiumin
Series: Mars Verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1687231
Comments: 4
Kudos: 33





	Anteros

**Author's Note:**

> Companion work for Mirror of Mars and Eros Unrequited. Follows the events of both works, but can be read as a standalone. I wanted the opening scene to be in Mirror of Mars, but thought that the shift from Jongdae’s 3rd-person, almost limited POV would be a little abrupt considering the scenes before it! If the ending seems a little abrupt, well that's because this work was technically going to be longer, but it's not really coming along so I'm sticking it off to the side for a while and am probably going to tackle it as it's own beast!
> 
> Please pay note to the warnings! If you think a tag/warning should be added, please just let me know! I’m more than willing to add it. 
> 
> As always, if you enjoy, please do let me know what you think via comments or kudos! You can even reach out to me on twitter! I love hearing what you think. For those curious, Anteros is one of the Erotes (Eros, Himeros, Phobos, Deimos, and Harmonia) and is the god of requited love!

“You left me.”

A tone void of any emotion, a wall put up to protect the heart on the other side. But the lips that speak it are pink like affection. Baëkhyun is a fragment of a past that Baekhyun wants to forget. A past that he must confront if he is to move forward and chase dreams that never died. For the past seven years, all Baëkhyun has been is a phantom; only present when blamed for the ache in his chest, the night terrors that bring him to tears, or for the sharpness of his anger and the poison of his tongue.

For seven years, Baekhyun has used him as an excuse for _his_ faults. For _his_ failures. And now, standing before him, looking into that sharp, colorless gaze, Baekhyun can’t help but feel like Baëkhyun knows this now. That he’s no longer ignorant. No longer naïve.

“I had to,” Baekhyun says softly, from the doorway. He’s not even set down his bags. He has only stopped. Stopped in front of a scene all too candid, all too real for having just arrived back in his homeland.

Baëkhyun turns back to the window; he is framed by a halo of silver light. It feels poetic, a touch that relays his innocence and Baekhyun’s cruelty.

Baekhyun is stuck on it for a moment, just watching. Watching and thinking of what to say.

His thoughts are interrupted. “You didn’t,” Baëkhyun says, his voice low. His fists clench at his sides, then, he folds his arms over his chest. Baekhyun watches the motion, can’t help but feel like it was a physical manifestation of Baëkhyun’s need to protect himself. Needs to protect his heart, lest Baekhyun break it again.

“I did,” Baekhyun says. “You know I did. You felt it.”

Baëkhyun turns, but he is shaking his head, his eyes glossy, his nails digging into his arms where they cross. “I felt nothing but _hurt_ ,” he says, voice breaking. He shakes his head again. “I felt like my world was falling apart. You _know_ what it is like not to be wanted. Not to be needed. _Why_ would you be so cruel as to force me to confront the same?”

Baekhyun blinks, his heart thudding in his chest, and opens his mouth to speak, to offer some excuse, but Baëkhyun has started and he is not finished. “I felt _relief_ on your part. And for a moment, I was blessedly happy. Overjoyed that _you_ could experience _peace_ for once.”

He points, a long finger stretched outwards, the rings glinting in the light, the same light that reveals the tears beginning to trace tracks down his face. “Because for all of _my_ life, I have only known you for your ire, for your hate, for your loathing. And I couldn’t put words to it then, because I have _never_ hated, but, once Minseok told me what you had done?” He trails off, returning his arms back to the front of his body—again, a protective stance, one that begs he’ll never hurt again.

“I _hated_ and I _hurt._ Do you know what it is like to be abandoned? Because you _never_ were, not when I was around. I was always there for you. But, you weren’t here for me. You never were. And it _rots_ at a person, to know that they aren’t wanted. And for what? What was my crime? Merely existing?”

His voice shuts off abruptly, his last word ending in a pitchy whine. And for once, though his emotions are written all across his face now, Baekhyun _can’t_ read him. Nor can he respond. There is nothing to refute. Indeed, Baëkhyun is like a loyal hound, and Baekhyun left him behind. Tied him to a post and ran.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Baekhyun starts, and this pulls a whine, long and heartrending from Baëkhyun’s throat.

He sinks to his knees and drops his head into his hands, sobs wracking his frame, and Baekhyun starts forward on an impulse before stopping. Before remembering himself. He feels defensive, but for what reason? There’s not a thing Baëkhyun has said that’s hurt him. Everything he’s said is merely true—and the truth paints Baekhyun like the villain.

“You could say that you’re sorry?” Baëkhyun whispers, when his sobs finally die down and he looks up, eyes reddened and puffy from tears, cheeks flushed and tear tracked. He is a tragedy. Collateral damage in a war Baekhyun’s had with himself.

Baekhyun doesn’t deserve to be forgiven, it’s as plain as black and white to him, but he’ll apologize, even if his pride is smarting and his arrogance still prevents him from seeing the full extent of the pain he’s caused. Even if continues to excuse his actions as a proper way to have coped. “I’m sorry,” he nearly echoes back. It’s an empty apology, but Baëkhyun is nothing if not a reflection of Baekhyun.

And Baekhyun craves the feeling of being needed.

Baëkhyun craves the feeling of being wanted. And an apology may not be affection in any sense of the word, but it is an outstretched hand. An offering that he could choose to take or not to take.

He gets up, and with the grace of a newborn fawn, lurches forward into Baekhyun’s arms. His hands wrap in Baekhyun’s hair, in his shirt, and they _beg_ that he’ll never leave again. They suggest that Baëkhyun will never _allow_ him to leave again. “Did you come back for me?” He asks, again, _begs_ , his voice pleading with Baekhyun. _Please_ , it says, _please say you’ve come back for me. Say that you wanted me. Say that you missed me. Say that you needed me._

Baëkhyun’s not the reason Baekhyun returned to Dulcibella. At least, not the sole one, but Baekhyun feels the stuttering of Baëkhyun’s heart, the waves of concealed panic, of concealed _grief_ that roll across their bond, and for once, he chooses to meet Baëkhyun like he were a lamb—gentle and kind.

“I came back for you,” he says quietly, _finally_ bringing his arms to rest around Baëkhyun’s frame. He’s slighter now, his body thinned out by the emotional toll of his abandonment. He has Minseok, of course, but just as Jongdae couldn’t have filled the hole in Baekhyun’s heart, neither could Minseok.

Relief, bittersweet, still barbed with misery, crosses the bond in a wave, crashing up against the walls Baekhyun’s put up and bringing them down. He’s still hurting too. Dulcibella has brought back the root of his turmoil. But, he’s not hurting alone. It’s a tragic thing that it’s happened like this—that _both_ of them have to experience this pain, but it is like the death before rebirth. It’s the ashes before the phoenix.

They both sink to the ground now, arm in arm, Baëkhyun’s head tucked against Baekhyun’s chest, his hand still moored in Baekhyun’s hair—painful but Baekhyun can’t bring himself to detangle it, yet. Feels like Baëkhyun needs this. The tangible feeling of having Baekhyun in hand, without any escape.

They cry, and then, when they’re finally both quiet, simply slumped against one another, already fatigued by their emotions, already worn, Baekhyun finally speaks again. “It hurt me too,” he says. “I thought it wouldn’t. I thought… It would _help_ to be away from you. And initially, that was what it was like. But, then, after you-” he trails off. After Baëkhyun found out and subsequently broke down. He leaves this unsaid. Feels like it’s too brusque a reminder. “I just felt emptier,” he finally whispers.

Baëkhyun looks up then, gaze meeting Baekhyun’s. “Why do we hurt each other so much?” he says.

“We’re too similar,” Baekhyun says. “We’re vying for the same attention, for the same affection, and we’re both too jealous, and so we come at each other with knives as though removing one from the equation will better the other.”

Baëkhyun blinks and his eyebrows turn downwards, but then he’s nodding. A minute later, he says, “But we both run away from love.” And he’s not wrong. Baekhyun’s not left Jongdae, but he’d be lying if he said Jongdae fulfilled the void in his heart. There will always be a wall between the two of them, because Baekhyun has a great many facets and he will not share them with Jongdae. Not now, not ever. They’re too personal, too ingrained in his very being and he simply _cannot_ let an outsider examine them. No matter how much he loves them.

“We’re too afraid to let anyone know _us_ like we know ourselves,” Baëkhyun says, putting words to Baekhyun’s thoughts. “But we… we already know each other. For all of our worst qualities and all of our best. I _know_ you and you _know_ me. So why can’t we love one another.”

“I can’t learn to love you overnight,” Baekhyun says. And though he’s admitting that he doesn’t love Baëkhyun, he _is_ willing, and this is the first time he’s really confronted that reality. “You are… a reminder of the things that hurt me. Of a new life that I hated. I- I can’t just love you.”

“But you can learn. You can learn just like you can return to this place and create a new life, or even return to your old one. I can be a part of your future, not as an enemy, nor a weight dragging you down, but as a conscience, a heart. I can love you until you love me. Just… don’t hurt me.”

Silence.

Baekhyun rubs Baëkhyun’s back, letting him know he’s heard, even if he’s yet to respond, even if he’s still mulling it over.

“Okay,” he says finally, his voice so low as to go unheard. But Baëkhyun had been yearning to hear that word.

He hugs Baekhyun more tightly, their hearts thundering against one another, and presses a kiss to his chest. “Don’t leave. Never again. _Please_.”

And Baekhyun echoes his earlier affirmation. _Okay_. He won’t leave. It’s a promise to one another. A promise and a plea.

***

Two years later, Baekhyun’s eyes flutter open, dutifully looking upwards as his makeup artist takes a pencil to his waterline, creating a striking mark along the shape of his eye. When he looks back down, gaze flicking over to the mirror, the face that stares back at him is distinctly predatory; remarkably familiar, and still so strange.

Delicate hands wrap around his head, cupping his jaw. Behind him, Baëkhyun smolders, equally beautiful in the lights of the vanity. He’s been granted a softer beauty, something lazier, more flexible; it compliments Baekhyun’s sharpness—smoothes it out, filters it down. “You look striking,” he purrs.

Baekhyun arches a brow, then, stands. This will be _their_ first live performance in Dulcinea. This will be _Baekhyun’s_ first live performance since leaving the stage so many years ago. Their company had taken pains to make their debut something anticipated. It had built the excitement here in their home-planet until it was nearing the point of climax.

This _is_ the climax.

He pulls a thin, glittering shirt, over Baëkhyun’s shoulders, buttoning it half-way. It’s a soft lavender color that compliments the cool sheen of his skin, the deep wine-colored eyeshadow painting his face, and the delicate silver jewelry that adorns his neck, his chest.

Baekhyun’s color palette is identical, but the design of his clothes is more conservative, more standoffish, more militaresque, and his jewelry is more constrictive.

On Earth, it is hard to explain that Baekhyun and his clone are not twins, but rather a bound consciousness. A shared image, a shared mind, both capable of choice, both capable of feeling.It’s a difference of culture, a difference of memory. Most Dulcineans were alive when Baekhyun reigned the stage. Many of them were part of the exigence that created Baëkhyun—that backlash, that _need_ to replace their most beloved idol. Earth-side, the science of cloning still hasn’t quite checked out. They find it harder to believe Baekhyun’s history.

But here, _here_ they are looking to see what Baëkhyun is like. Dulcineans are expectant of seeing the clone against the original. They are looking to see how Baekhyun’s personality dichotomizes itself. Power, command, dominance contrasted against raw sensuality, playfulness, mischief.

Even now, the pair have the attention of those backstage. It’s a certain aura that the both of them exude. They were a curious pair at Minseok’s left and right hand, both of them reserved—even mysterious—but here, near the stage, where they are _meant_ to be… it’s a shift of character, a shift of being.

They look _unattainable_.

But their hubris is measured. Baëkhyun flies high, but Baekhyun pulls him down, keeps him from flying too close to the sun. Baekhyun, after all, has seen the effects of pride. He has felt it himself. Now, he is more cautious. Still proud, but wary.

“Are you ready?” He asks Baëkhyun, his voice as smooth, as expensive as velvet. “They will never take their eyes off of us once they see us,” he continues. Is this the moment Baëkhyun wants to fully commit? Is this the brightest memory he wants people to have of him.

 _Yes_.

They separate now. Baekhyun enters the stage first, his flourish inviting screams from the waiting audience. His voice lilts over their opening track, hands dancing along in the air as though he played an invisible piano. He dances with little fanfare, while not exceptionally skilled, he is sensual, he is captivating all the same.

At the bridge of the track, he falls to his knees, and croons into the pool waiting at center-stage. It’s a simple visual effect, the cameras pan above him as if to display his reflection, but instead, he reaches into the pool and draws Baëkhyun out.

His hair and shirt is dampened, clinging to his body, as though he had been inside the water, but his makeup remains intact, and his steps are sure—they do not slide—as he whisks Baekhyun across the stage, their voices rising in harmony.

Even as the sounds meld together, a perfect blend of a perfect voice, they are at odds. Always contrasting one another, always representing a different part of one another. They flirt with the fans, the cameras, and also, each other. They challenge one another on the stage; make it difficult to tell when the fire that flashes in their eyes is real or merely performance.

The entire concert passes like this. And despite the _sound_ that surrounds them. Despite the atmosphere—thousands upon thousands of adoring fans, the blinding lights, and all of the moving parts—the concert passes in a blur, for they are focused only on one another.

The lights cut with the two of them wrapped together, intertwined as though they _were_ a single body, a single heart, a single mind. It’s a tease. Leaving the question what happens after, when the lights go out, when there is no one but them.

Baekhyun knows the answer, once they’re backstage, and Baëkhyun _cannot_ resist any longer. It’s like the concert was an extensive foreplay and now, all of the tension boils over. He kisses Baekhyun needily, a moan already rumbling up his chest, his hands scrambling at Baekhyun’s clothes, and his hips pressing forward until they are flush against one another.

Taeyeon clears her throat, and they part slowly with a low whine, teasing, promising. They’ll continue later. It’s not as if the performance high will disappear immediately. It will last through the night, a heavy pulse that sends fire through their veins.

“I always did think you were meant to go back onstage,” she says now that they’ve pulled away from one another. Her words are directed at Baekhyun, but her gaze rests on Baëkhyun, as if the same statement is true for the both of them. “I’m glad you did.” She could say more. Congratulate the both of them on their performance—it was, after all, without any noticeable flaws—but she doesn’t.

And Baëkhyun, surprisingly, doesn’t fish for any such compliments (though that behavior is typical of him). He only grins and grabs Baekhyun’s hand, following her into the dressing room. The staff that awaits them is significantly smaller. Mostly just their primary management team and a couple of makeup artists and stylists, all there to collect stage outfits, jewelry, and to help clean off the makeup they’ve not yet sweat off.

After it all, there’s a certain emptiness, where nothing is required of them and they are allowed to go home.

They take a detour, though.

A drive, really, no where in particular. Just _around_. Sitting in a soft, comfortable silence as they relive the concert. Relieve the adrenaline. Taeyeon was right in saying that they were meant to be on stage. Nothing makes Baekhyun feel more whole.

The car ends up parked by the river, with the silver moon hanging above the horizon, illuminating the interior just a few shades above total darkness. Baekhyun cuts the engine and the dashboard lights, leaving them in the dark, with _only_ the moonlight.

It’s not long before Baëkhyun’s hands are reaching over, sliding up Baekhyun’s thigh, over his shoulder. He’s teasing now, not desperate. Just testing the waters to see if Baekhyun is as interested as he is. He doesn’t have to. He already knows. Can feel Baekhyun’s arousal as intimately as he feels his own.

“Do you want my mouth?” He suggests, leaning over the center console distractingly, his hand smoothing across Baekhyun’s chest, the other remaining secured between his thighs. Baekhyun’s lips part shakily, his head connecting with the back of the seat, his body slouching—begging that Baëkhyun’s touch slide further up his thigh, where it’s wanted most.

Baëkhyun allows it, cupping Baekhyun’s cock through his pants, delicate fingers teasing along his bulge. Suggestive, but not yet delivering.

“Or perhaps, just my hands?” Baëkhyun continues, nosing along Baekhyun’s jaw, his breath washing over his skin and leaving goosebumps. Baekhyun shakes his head minutely, his eyes slipping shut. His hands remain lax, at his sides, draped across the interior. Baëkhyun would prefer him white-knuckled, clutching at the seat.

Baëkhyun slips into the seat, readjusting it so that he’s given more room to straddle Baekhyun’s lap properly. Like this, he can’t ignore his own arousal. It bulges in his pants, rubs against Baekhyun’s in the best of ways. He rocks his hips a few times, giving in to his needs, but stops as soon as Baekhyun’s hands leave his sides and plant themselves on Baëkhyun’s hips. “Ah-ah-ah,” he tuts, “hands by your side, love,” and he waits, gaze half-lidded, but full of challenge, until Baekhyun follows his request.

Now, he’s beginning to see a bit of that white-knuckled desperation. It’s still reserved, still restrained, but it’s building.

Baëkhyun plants one hand on the ceiling, arching his back prettily, and rolls his hips forward again. It’s not as pleasant like this, with both of them clothed, but every movement makes Baekhyun’s eyes dilate further, his legs fall open wider, his breath comes out quicker.

Baëkhyun will tease until Baekhyun is fraying at the edges. Until he cannot stand it any longer. “Use your words, hun,” Baëkhyun mocks, words sweet, but tongue barbed. “What do you want?”

 _You_.

Baëkhyun’s unsure if it’s spoken aloud or if it’s simply that strong of a feeling. That _raw_ of a feeling. “But _how_ do you want me?” He continues to pry. Pleasure crawls up his spine. He tips his head back and sighs for the first time since they’ve begun. Baekhyun’s hands leave the hand rests and return to his body, this time smoothing up his thighs, sliding around to hold his ass, and guide his movements.

“I want you anyway you’ll have me,” Baekhyun rasps, popping the button on Baëkhyun’s jeans and releasing some of the pressure on his cock. Baëkhyun moans then, when Baekhyun frees his dick and strokes from base to tip, and keens forward. Baekhyun mouths at his neck, his jaw, and then kisses him, tonguing at his lips, coaxing Baëkhyun to open up against him. To _give_ in.

And he _does_. He likes to tease, but he likes to fall apart even more. Likes to be doted on. Loves the attention, the want, the need.

His hands scrabble for Baekhyun’s pants, shoving them down as soon as he gets the chance. Now, when they grind forward, it’s so much more intense of a feeling. So much hotter, both the act itself and the perception of it. Baekhyun moans into his mouth, his free hand flying up to moor itself in Baëkhyun’s hair, pulling, tugging, guiding.

“Dae-yah’s back home. Do you think he’s still up waiting for us?”

“I don’t know why-” Baekhyun’s voice cuts off, a moan escaping his lips. “you’re so focused on-” again, he loses his voice, this time to a kiss. “On Jongdae,” he finishes, rougher with Baëkhyun’s hair.

“When you’re right here?” Baëkhyun goads.

“When I’m right here,” Baekhyun agrees, his hand leaving Baëkhyun’s cock and moving further south, circling around his hole drily. It shakes a moan from Baëkhyun’s chest. The idea of taking Baekhyun with no preparation at all sends fire through his veins, but in practice he only knows it would be a bad idea. So, when Baekhyun’s hand snakes up to his mouth, presses at his lips, he can only moan, lips parting, tongue laving over his digits.

It’s not enough for them to _fuck_ with, but it’s enough for Baekhyun to finger him with. Spit and precum. It’s all a bit juvenile, but what else can a car fuck be like?

Baekhyun’s first finger is familiar. His body’s already relaxed to accept it, rocks down on it without a second thought. His next finger deals with more resistance, but it, too, is an easy fit. He presses them up along Baëkhyun’s walls, searching for the spot that will make him keen.

And once he finds it, his fingers do not leave it, and Baëkhyun _sinks_ into a pleasure-induced stupor. His body relaxing against Baekhyun’s, mind focused solely on _feeling_. Feeling and enjoying. Baekhyun’s hands are like an anchor keeping him in the present, in the happening.

“Faster,” he asks, nibbling at Baekhyun’s neck. Baekhyun laughs, a breathless sort of huff, and obliges despite the growing ache in his wrist, the awkwardness of the angle. “You’re so good at this,” Baekhyun mumbles, tongue laving over the reddened spot he’s just left on Baekhyun’s neck.

“Tease me,” Baekhyun begs. And, Baëkhyun grins, slides Baekhyun’s shirt up his chest, and then, puts the end of it in Baekhyun’s mouth.

“Hold this for me,” he says. And Baekhyun moans, his teeth securing on the hem of his shirt.Nearly immediately after, fingers are pinching his nipples, rolling them, and soon, Baëkhyun has ducked down to bite at them, his lips latched to the peaked flesh, tongue swirling around them. He pays each attention until he can’t, his high too close.

He sits up again, returning his hand to the ceiling of the car, and uses it to rock back on Baekhyun’s hand, his entire self focused on chasing his climax. And Baekhyun indulges. Readjusts so the angle is just right when his fingers sink into Baëkhyun’s hole. With a twist of his hand on the upstroke, Baëkhyun loses it, his cock spurting come, a shiver running up his spine. His head drops back, eyes focused blankly on the ceiling.

After a minute, he looks back down, his desperation melting into languor. Baekhyun looks similarly wrung out, the effects of Baëkhyun’s orgasm reaching over the bond, acting as a precursor the Baekhyun’s own release.

Baekhyun’s let go of the hem of his shirt, but Baëkhyun merely slides the fabric up, one hand disappearing under the fabric to play with his nipples while the other runs up Baekhyun’s chest, thumbs across his jaw, and then, parts his lips. “Suck,” he says, watching interestedly as Baekhyun sucks his fingers into his mouth. He stretches them across Baekhyun’s tongue until he chokes, and only then does he abate and move that hand down to Baekhyun’s cock, his strokes long, smooth, comfortable.

“You’re close,” he says, kissing him again. “Gonna come for me?” he continues, goading, he twists his hand on Baekhyun’s cock, just the way they like it, and presses his thumb to the spot just beneath the head, coaxing Baekhyun to finally give in. Let himself _go_.

It takes a few more minutes. And when he comes, his breath quickens, and he jerks forward, his neck arching back, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Baëkhyun similarly, feels his climax like a wave, radiating down his nerves, whiting out his own vision.

He laughs against Baekhyun’s throat, surprised, but pleased when he regains his breath. “We should have car sex more often.”

Baekhyun immediately rolls his eyes, “Don’t kill the afterglow,” he admonishes. He reaches into the center console and grabs a pack of tissues, cleaning them both up. Then, he pulls Baëkhyun against his chest, his hand tracing the line of Baëkhyun’s spine as they both come down from their shared precipice.

Eventually, Baëkhyun ends up back in the passenger seat, and Baekhyun starts the car again. “We don’t have car sex,” he begins, “because _normally_ , we have a driver.”

“I’m sure they’d enjoy watching,” Baëkhyun purrs, knowing it makes Baekhyun’s heart race. After all, they _are_ one and the same.

Indeed, Baekhyun bites his lip, but he’s stubborn. “No,” he says with finality. “I like my driver. I am _not_ going to harass him on his job.”

“Oh, you know I was joking,” Baëkhyun whines, rolling down the window to let out the distinct scent of sex.

The river rushes by as they drive along its edge. It’s all so beautiful. So romantic. He says as much, but Baekhyun only scoffs. Says they’ve driven the river too many times for it to be as romantic as Baëkhyun makes it sound.

They’re still bickering good-naturedly when they park curb-side in front of Capital Tower, and even after they’ve ridden the elevator up to their suite.

Jongdae’s expecting them, just as Baëkhyun had suggested he’d be. His eyes sparkle knowingly, a glass of wine in hand, a book in the other. “I watched the concert,” he says in greeting. “The two of you are _captivating_.”

Baekhyun grins, walking over to the couch and sinking down next to him. Baëkhyun follows a moment later, after he ties up his sweaty hair, getting it off his neck. “When are we not?” Baëkhyun asks, taking a seat on the floor and resting his head in Jongdae’s lap, perfectly comfortable.

Jongdae hums, “I suppose you always are,” he agrees, setting down his book in favor of running his hand through Baëkhyun’s hair. “Will you be touring, or?”

“Soon,” Baekhyun says, “this was something of a taste of what’s to come. We have some time before we next travel. Is there a reason you asked?”

Jongdae nods, sighing, “I’m required in Menkar. I won’t be home. Figured if you two were also out of the house, it’d be better, but if you aren’t touring then I suppose you’ll be here.”

Baekhyun says nothing. It takes Baëkhyun to say what he’s thinking. “We can probably arrange to accompany you to Menkar, if you’d like?”

“I don’t know how much time I’ll have,” Jongdae says.

“So?” Baekhyun says. “We’re good at keeping ourselves entertained. Besides, I’m _very_ familiar with Menkar. I know all of the best places to eat, drink, and sleep.”

Jongdae rolls his eyes. “You know underground-Menkar, where the crime is plentiful.”

“Ah,” Baekhyun says, “you wound me.” He kisses Jongdae’s cheek, then brings his hand down to squeeze his thigh. “Do you not want us to come along? If you don’t have time, then you don’t have time. It’ll be no different than if you leave us here. But if you _do_ have time… don’t you want to have a little bit of _fun_?”

“You’re so convincing,” Jongdae says. Baëkhyun laughs, rubbing soothing circles into the human’s thigh. “But, this is official business. I’m not sure the Conference will allow me to travel with two… superstars,” he says.

Baekhyun sighs, but he doesn’t argue any further. Only lays his head against Jongdae’s shoulder, dark eyes turned outwards, into the lounge, looking at nothing in particular.

Eventually, Jongdae gets up to go to sleep. Baëkhyun remains on the floor for a moment longer, only getting up once Baekhyun does. They end up in the shower, steam rising up around them, fogging up the glass panels. Baekhyun’s hands smooth over Baëkhyun’s back, gentle, but with no ulterior motive. His fatigue is obvious now, settles on his shoulders like a weight, fogs his mind and leaves him… empty.

“Let me take care of you,” Baëkhyun says, nudging Baekhyun from under the spray of water and beginning to soap up his body. Baëkhyun traces the long scars that run his abdomen—it’s perhaps the only visible difference between them and a visible reminder of what Baekhyun’s been through—and kisses between his shoulder blades apologetically. Sympathetically.

Baekhyun doesn’t squirm like he usually would. He doesn’t push Baëkhyun away, he does nothing but allow the clone to explore the web of complicated scarring. Later, when they crawl into bed beside Jongdae, the touches linger like a phantom that Baekhyun can’t quite forget. And his heart pangs.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, if you enjoyed reading, please do let me know via a comment, kudo, or hell, even send me a tweet! You can find me on my [writing twitter](https://twitter.com/sophluorescent) OR my [personal twitter!](https://twitter.com/syzygybbh)
> 
> Want to share head-canons or are too shy to leave a comment, i have a [curiouscat](https://t.co/KYC8gCVmPh?amp=1) !


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